John's Birthday
by Blue Dragon of Rivendell
Summary: Sherlock does somethings special for John's birthday, involving baking, card and gift hunting. Only problem is he doesn't know how to give the card and present to John. Friendship fluff.
1. John's Birthday

**A/N- A little fanfic I wrote to honour my friend's birthday. There's mild crack referring to hedgehogs and jumpers. Apart from that, there is nothing too major.**

Sherlock idly drummed his fingers on the table. He glanced at the clock above the fireplace. It was 3:42 A.M. There was something important to remember. He was sure of it. The niggling twinge of his subconscious told him that.

He took out his phone from his dressing gown pocket and unlocked it. He tapped onto the calendar icon, and today's date was highlighted. He tapped on it. The date was enlarged and 'John's birthday' appeared as a caption.

His grip loosened and the phone dropped with a muffled thud onto the carpet.

Sherlock remembered when he entered the date onto his phone. It was a week after John moved in. He was bored and mildly curious about when John's birthday was. And so he attempted to deduce it. He was two days shy of the actual date. John was slightly amused.

He entered the date on his phone, for future reference, thinking it wasn't _that _important. John was only his acquaintance and flatmate after all. What the consulting detective failed to foresee was that his acquaintance became his colleague and friend.

Social protocol dictates that he should be nice to his friend, say a 'happy birthday', present a cake and purchase a card and a gift. _But that wasn't right. _Sherlock couldn't quite understand why. He searched through his mental hard drive. Sherlock himself, wasn't all that interested in birthdays. He never understood what the fuss was about. After all, it was normal for someone to age year after year. It was the natural order of things.

Then he realised. John was his _friend. _Sherlock _wanted _to do something special for him. Sherlock knew the shops were closed at this hour. So a card and present was out. For now.

He knew John was asleep at this hour of the day. He could start on a cake. He shouldn't ask Mrs Hudson for a recipe book. Past experiences informed him; people did not like to be disturbed at three in the morning.

He picked up his phone, logged onto the internet and searched for a cake recipe. Sherlock found one that was not too complicated to make. _Better get started then. _

—-

Three hours and five batches of cake later, Sherlock had no cake to show for his efforts.

The kitchen was in a mess. Well messier than usual. Thankfully, his microscope and other scientific equipment were not subject to the mess. Sherlock had the wisdom to stow them away.

The benches were splattered with egg, flour and other baking necessities. Sherlock almost slipped on the first cake mixture that covered the tiles. Broken glass crunched beneath his feet, as he surveyed the kitchen. Foul brown-grey smoke was billowing out of the oven. A burning smell hung around the room.

Sherlock was disappointed and frustrated. His five batches of cake were unsuccessful. He had followed the instructions to what he deemed was accurate and he somehow managed not to produce a cake. Sherlock rather reluctantly admitted defeat, beginning to clean up the kitchen. No need to remind himself of the failure or John of his efforts.

The kitchen was cleaner than usual, but the smell still lingered. There was nothing Sherlock could do to dispel it. He checked the time on his phone. 8:01 A.M. Some shops should be opened. He dashed into his room, dressed quickly in his usual suit and trench coat and exited the flat.

—-

The shopkeeper, behind the counter smiled at him, as he walked into the newsagency Sherlock ignored her. He had a card to buy.

He was a little frazzled by the sheer amount of greeting cards. The greeting cards were sorted into 'Birthdays', 'Get Well, 'Anniversaries', 'Christmas' and other trifling occasions. Sherlock peered closer at the 'Birthdays'. They were also divided, but for ages and gender. He sighed. Sherlock was not a card-buying person; this was going to be a little more difficult than he anticipated.

"Can I help you?" the shopkeeper asked.

"No, I'm fine," he replied, in what he hoped was, politely.

He rifled through some of the cards for adults. His fingers danced across the paper, dismissing all of them.

He stopped at one last card that was hastily stuffed at the back. He took it out and smiled slightly.

It depicted a hedgehog snoozing with an otter nestled around it. They were resting on a cake. John loved hedgehogs. He never understood why. Sherlock opened the card. It was blank. _Perfect. _He could write something of his own in the card.

—-

John was still asleep, when he arrived back at 221B. The clock informed him it was nine thirty exactly.

After much mental debate, he decided to buy a jumper for John. His friend had an unusual liking for jumpers. He placed the store-wrapped jumper on the coffee table, found a stray pen from the table and sat down in his armchair.

With the opened card balanced on the armrest, his hand hovered over the white paper, deliberating what to write. He never had to do this. Well, he wrote to Mycroft and mother on Christmas and their birthdays. But that was because he _had _to. Now, it was different. He _wanted _to write to John.

Finally, he slid the ballpoint across the blank, black ink forming words.

_To my dear friend,_

_Happy Birthday!_

_From Sherlock_

In all honesty, he was unsure whether more words were needed. But he was satisfied with the words he _had_ written. Simple but to the point.

Sherlock strummed his violin, impatiently waiting for John to wake. The neatly-wrapped jumper was on the coffee table, the card resting on top of it. They were ready to be received.

He heard muffled footsteps. John was awake then. Sherlock felt a sense of nervousness. _What if John didn't like the gift? Or the card? _He attempted to quash the feeling. _Only one way to find out. _

John entered into the living room, still bleary from sleep. He walked into the clean kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. He stilled for a fleeting second, then resumed. _John most likely noticed the unusual state of it and the burning smell. _There was nothing Sherlock could do about the stench. It still lingered when he returned from his shopping. He paused with his impromptu violin piece.

John sat on the armchair, opposite of him, cup of tea in tow. Sherlock placed the instrument on the table. _Now, Sherlock give it now. _

"Morning, Sherlock." John greeted him.

"Morning." He was rather stiff, in his reply. "Umm… John?" He hesitated, brain fumbling for the correct way to address this, hands fumbling for the wrapped bundle. _Say happy birthday, say happy birthday. _For some reason, for some obscure reason, Sherlock couldn't say it.

"Here." He rose from his chair and handed the card and the gift to his friend.

John was puzzled for a moment, as he took them from Sherlock's slight shaking hands. Then a grin broke out.

The remnants of Sherlock's tension evaporated and he gave a small smile. "Happy Birthday."

**A/N- So there it is. Happy birthday to my lovely friend Jess!**


	2. Puzzle (Deleted Scene)

**A/N- This is a little deleted scene from "John's Birthday". I thought it disrupted the flow of the story, but it was fun to write.**

"Is the card for a friend?"

"Yes." Sherlock's reply was clipped and short, hoping she would get the message. The shopkeeper was awfully chatty. She scanned the barcode.

"When is his birthday? Or hers?" She flushed at her statement. _Odd. _Molly seemed to have the same demeanour when he was around.

"Today is hisbirthday." Sherlock handed her the money.

"Oh. Well, I hope he likes the card." She gave the purchase to him. "If you want to call me, here's my mobile." She scrawled 'Ashley' and the number on the back of the receipt and gave it to him with a hesitant.

Sherlock was confused at how he should react. After all, giving out their numbers was not part of a shopkeeper's job. He settled for a short nod.

He walked out of the store. That was not the first time it happened to him. A couple of shopkeepers have given their numbers to him. He never asked for them. There is no reason for them. He kept all the numbers, for data.

It is another puzzle for him to solve.

**A/N- I would be very happy if you could review this. Comments, constructive criticism and the like.**

**This continues into "Oblivion" or John's reaction to the receipt. Please check it out.**


End file.
